


vanity plate

by spookyfoot



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 01, Social Media, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Yuri!!! In Russia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-31 05:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10892880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot
Summary: Victor turns, frowns at the license plate, and murmurs,“maybe I went too subtle.”But he rallies and looks at Yuuri, so smug that Yuuri wants to kiss it off his face, “and you said," Victor affects a voice that sounds like Yuuri’s second cousin who’s eaten too many chili peppers, “‘Vitya, you’ve never been subtle in your life.’”Yuuri crosses his arms in front of his chest, unimpressed, “there’s subtle and then there’s incomprehensibly cryptic.”Victor is undeterred, “Yurio will get it. He uses Instagram.”//“What the fuck does that say?” Yurio growls.Victor pouts, "does no one appreciate genius anymore?"“No one appreciates you, there’s a difference.”______________Or: No one understands Victor's new license plate.





	vanity plate

**Author's Note:**

> I'M BACK WITH ANOTHER RIDICULOUS ONE-SHOT. But....this time it's canon compliant? so...yay?
> 
> I've had this in my "to write" folder since April 23. I just wanted to write it now ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
>  
> 
> ****MOST IMPORTANT PART OF AN ABSURDLY LONG AUTHORS NOTE*****  
> I know that Russian license plates are structured differently, there are obligatory numbers ect. This fic consciously sacrifices verisimilitude for the sake of comedy. sorry not sorry. 
> 
> (they also would not be in English but if i'm really going for comedy over reality I'm going ALL THE WAY)
> 
>  
> 
> i just want to write jokes you guys. 85% of the stories I've written or am writing are structured around a joke....  
> so...suspend your disbelief that no one would guess the license plate before when it happens in the story
> 
> there are some other inane notes at the end! I just love babbling about totally useless information
> 
> if you're into ramblings and fic previews i'm [ on tumblr](http://katsukiyuuristrophyhusband.tumblr.com)
> 
> #SpoonEquality2k17 is the hill i die on

Yuuri arrives in Saint Petersburg smelling like recycled air. He’s got purple crescents smeared under his eyes, an airplane throw he stole from Aeroflot wrapped around his shoulders, and a gold medal from Japanese Nationals burning a hole in his jacket pocket.

Victor greets him at the gate like Yuuri’s just returned from the front line. He wraps himself around Yuuri’s body like a cocoon and forces all the other passengers to figure out some way to maneuver around their reunion. Yuuri doesn’t speak Russian, but rage is a universal language. 

(It’s probably why Yurio’s never bothered to learn any non-native language beyond English.)

They stand there for exactly seventeen minutes before Yuuri pretends to be embarrassed by the PDA.

(He isn’t. Victor’s conditioned him into some sort of Pavlovian response to physical affection that certainly didn’t exist before Victor’d shown up in Yuuri’s childhood home with his dick out.) 

“We should probably get my bags,” Yuuri croaks. He’s trying so hard not to cry.

“Mmmm,” Victor says, nuzzling against his neck, “just one more minute.”

“You said that seventeen minutes ago.”

"Are you counting?"

"I started counting after the third person went out of their way to shove us as they went past."

Victor sighs into the side of Yuuri’s neck, “you just want to see Makkachin. You missed her more than me, didn’t you?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes while fighting a smile. Honestly. “You caught me, I’m only marrying you for your dog.”

“Well, at least you have good taste,” Victor smiles, finally releasing Yuuri from the bear trap embrace of his arms. “Speaking of marriage, let me see it,” Victor starts to pat Yuuri down in a parody of a TSA frisk he obviously learned from porn. He bypasses the obvious lump in Yuuri’s pocket for a straight-up public groping session.

“Victor!”

“Ah here it is,” Victor says, entirely unrepentant, even though he found the medal at the start of his search. He pulls it out of Yuuri’s pocket to give it a big, smacking kiss, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

Yuuri’s sure the airport wasn’t this warm a minute ago. Victor slips the medal into the pocket of his own coat (“I have plans for it”). He insists on walking the entire way to Baggage Claim draped over Yuuri’s back with his chin resting on Yuuri’s shoulder even though Yuuri halfheartedly protests that, “it’s not a very efficient way to travel.”

Victor temporarily forgoes his limpet impression and leans away from Yuuri’s back so they can make eye contact, “Yuuri, you took Aeroflot here. I think it’s a little late to worry about efficient travel.”

At Baggage Claim, a few fans ask Victor for photos while they watch an empty conveyor belt make an endless loop. Victor smiles his glossy twenty-four-by-thirty-six grin while they take selfies. Then the last two fans— two women in their early twenties— come over to Yuuri and ask him for a photo as well. Victor takes photos of the three of them with an entirely different smile stretched across his face.

Victor excuses himself to bring his car around while Yuuri waits for his bag, but not before kissing Yuuri on the mouth in a way that’s somehow soft but starving— and promises more.

“I’ll see you soon,” Victor’s words echo in his ear long after Victor passes through the sliding doors and into the tundra outside.

 ____________________________________________

Yuuri shivers underneath five different layers of fabric (thermal, long sleeve shirt, the hoodie Victor had left in Hasetsu that still smelled like his obscenely expensive cologne, a thick down jacket, and his stolen Aeroflot blanket) while he waits for Victor to pull up to the curb. Of all the articles about Victor he’d read over the years, Yuuri’s only read one about Victor’s car and—

Is that “Stammi Vicino”?

“Yuuri!”

Victor’s sitting in the driver’s seat of an entirely weather inappropriate hot pink Cadillac convertible with his hand on the horn. He honks it again, and yes, those are the first notes of “Stammi Vicino”.

Yuuri walks over to the passenger side door, and raises an eyebrow at the license plate, which says “5xGold”.

“Isn’t it amazing? It might be time to change the horn though.”

Yuuri nods and presses his hands up against the mostly ineffectual heating vent, the puff of hot air utterly mismatched against the ferocity of a Saint Petersburg winter.

“Yakov had the license plate made for my after my last win at Worlds.”

(He’d hoped it would help fill the emptiness. It didn’t.)

“But I think I want something a little more subtle.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes, “yes, because the first thing I thought when I saw this car was ‘oh, that’s subtle.’ You’ve never been subtle in your life.”

“Yuuuuuuuuri,” Victor whines, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the curb, “so mean. Besides, this license plate makes it a little too obvious that this is my car.”

Yuuri gapes at him, “Victor, it’s a hot pink Cadillac convertible. I’m _pretty_ sure everyone would know it was your car even without the license plate. There can’t be more than one of these in St. Petersburg.”

Victor chuckles, “you’d be surprised.”

Yuuri’s about to protest when a gold, Swarovsky bedazzled Porsche pulls up next to them.

“Victor,” Yuuri hisses, “does that car have _wings_ attached to the back?”

 ____________________________________________

 Victor’s (“our!”) apartment is blessedly warm. It also doesn’t require Yuuri to suffer through anymore of Victor’s terrible driving— he’d spent the entire drive from the airport white knuckling the door handle while Victor merrily cut off every driver in St. Petersburg.

When Yuuri steps through the door he’s immediately hit with a blast of hot air and a face full of poodle.

“Makkachin!” he cooes, burying his face in her soft curls, “I missed you too.”

  
Victor sets Yuuri’s bag down next to the couch next to a pile of boxes and adopts a faux-wounded expression, “I see how it is,” he pouts.

“You clung to me throughout the entire airport! Makkachin and I are still enjoying our reunion,” he scratches her head and stage whispers, “we can run away together and leave Victor with Yurio. He’ll have to learn how to be a cat person.”

“Yuuri! How could you!”

“Very, very easily.”

Victor raises an eyebrow, “well, if that’s how you want to play it…” he says, before walking over to a box labelled “Yuuri, Misc.”

“What are you—“

Victor pulls out a stack of posters with a flourish.

“ _Kuso_.”

Victor just stands there, grinning.

Yuuri gets up from the floor and stalks towards Victor. Makkachin whines at being left alone.

“Mari? Minako? Takeshi? Who told you?”

Yuuri didn’t think it was possible for Victor’s smile to get wider, but he also didn’t think his posters would end up in Russia.

“Your mom, actually.”

Yuuri reaches Victor and swipes his arm up to grab the posters. Victor holds them just out of his reach.

“I’m a little offended you didn’t ask me to sign them, lapochka.”

“Really? That’s what you’re going with?” Yuuri stands on his tip toes, just a couple more inches—

“Well of course! I’m flattered,” Victor says, _finally_ handing Yuuri the posters before steering him into the second bedroom.

Yuuri’s sure that the second bedroom was an office at one point but Victor’s since converted into a shrine for all things Katsuki Yuuri. The walls are plastered with posters from photoshoots Yuuri barely remembers. And he’s pretty sure Victor stripped the entirely of Hasetsu’s train station. Some of them are stills from commercials that Victor had specially printed.

Victor wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist, “if you don’t want me to sign yours, will you at least sign mine?”

____________________________________________ 

They spend their first (and second and third) night christening the apartment. Victor’s gotten Yuuri a few days off of practice —

(“Yakov, he’ll be jet lagged! What kind of coach would I be if I made him skate two days after an intercontinental move?”

“A real one.” )

—but Yuuri ends up at the rink anyways. Yakov nods at him in approval. Yurio growls, but thrusts a bag of katsudon piroshki into Yuuri’s hands, and informs Victor and Yuuri that he’s coming over for dinner.

It turns out that Victor’s plan for Yuuri’s medal from Japanese Nationals is to put it in the display case next to his own. It’s the most mundane thing about the entire move.

(“I’ll have to special order a larger one.”)

Things settle into a pattern. Skating, sex, studying Russian, and exploring St. Petersburg. Yuuri buys Victor a dashcam for his car.

(“How do you not already have one of these with the way you drive?” Yuuri asks.

Victor protests his driving isn’t that bad, polls twitter, and pouts for an hour when everyone agrees with Yuuri.)

Worlds creeps up on them faster than they expect.

____________________________________________

Yuuri wins Worlds by one tenth of a point. Victor’s thrilled with the poetic irony. He also can’t stop talking about the wedding.

He snaps a picture of himself and Yuuri with their medals draped around their necks, makes it his phone background and then posts it to Instagram.

 .......

_[ **Photo: Victor and Yuuri with their arms around each other, wearing their medals. Victor looks ecstatic, Yuuri shellshocked.]**_

  
**@v-nikiforov:** we both won! the wedding’s next spring  <3333 @katsuki-yuuri #katsukiyuuri #victornikiforov #silverandgold #katsukiyuuristrophyhusband #lovewins

 **47,523** likes, **942** comments

 **phichit-chu** : congratulations you two! also **@v-nikiforov** come find me. we have Things to talk about  
**christophe-gc** : *cough* shovel talk *cough*  
**bladezofglory** : my skin is clear, my crops are flourishing this is all i ever wanted #relationshipgoals  
**quadsquad** : @ **FS-Monthly** , u better take Vitya off ur eligible bachelors list

_view more comments_

 .......

[ _ **Photo: Yurio wearing his bronze medal, Victor and Yuuri on either side. Yurio’s wearing a smile approaching a grimace. Victor and Yuuri are beaming]**_

  
**@v-nikiforov** podium selfie with the love of my life **@katsuki-yuuri** and our son **@y-plisetsky** #podiumfamily #thefamilythatmedalstogetherstaystogether #katsukiyuuri #victornikiforov #yuriplisetsky

 **36,834** likes, **789** comments

 **christophe-gc** : can confirm that #victuuri left after this photo to have a “coaching critique” and returned rather disheveled  
**y-plisetsky** : i am NOT your son. BLOCKED.  
**numberoneyuuristan** : **@y-plisetsky @v-nikiforov @katsuki-yuuri** I volunteer as tribute

_view more comments_

____________________________________________

It’s a few months into the offseason, they’ve just come back from an extended trip to Hasetsu, and Victor’s in a full wedding planning frenzy. Then, against all of Yuuri’s expectations, Victor takes the afternoon off to run some mysterious errand he refuses to discuss.

“You’ll see eventually, Yuuri! You know how I feel about surprises.”

It’s surprisingly hard to argue when you’re being kissed senseless.

When Victor picks Yuuri up from the gym at Yubileyny Sports Palace he honks the horn even though Yuuri’s standing _right there_ on the curb.

“Really Vitya—“ Yuuri starts before he’s interrupted by the horn.

It’s playing “Yuri on Ice”.

They idle at the curb for a long time as Yuuri kisses Victor breathless.

Afterwards, with their foreheads pressed together, Yuuri chuckles.

“What, lapochka?” Victor asks, still a little winded.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“How are you so embarrassing and romantic at the same time?”

“I am only one of those things,” Victor sniffs in mock offense, ("embarrassing?" Victor ignores him), “but I’m glad you liked your surprise,” Victor smiles, before turning the key ignition and pulling away from the curb.

(“Victor! Watch your blindspot!”

“I see them Yuuri!” Victor trills, despite not having looked away from Yuuri’s face since Yuuri got into the car.

Yuuri doesn’t know how Victor’s survived this long without a dashcam.)

And Yuuri thinks that’s the end of it. But he’s marrying _Victor Nikiforov_. He should know better. Years from now, Yuuri will look back at his younger self, flash him a placating smile, and shake his head.

____________________________________________

A week later, and Victor’s grown suspiciously attached to their mailman. He’s got an alarm on his phone that screams “mail time!” every afternoon at 2pm.

(Yuuri recognizes it from an American cartoon he used to improve his English.)

If they’re coming home from lunch or an errand, he lingers by the long rows of mailboxes while Dmitri sorts the mail. Dmitri’s started shooting confused looks at the blinding golden ring on Victor’s right hand.

If they’re home, he’ll stop whatever he’s doing to rush downstairs. Then he returns flushed, a pile of letters clutched to his chest, muttering “not yet,”.

A week of this is a week too long; Yuuri can’t take it anymore.

He’s lying on the couch with a book while Victor sits at the kitchen table.

“Vitya?”

“Yes?”

“I have to ask you a very important question.”

Victor glances up from the stack of fan mail he’s sorting through, “more important than asking me to marry you?”

“Well, since we’re already engaged— at this moment, yes.”

“My fiancé is so cruel to me,” Victor whines to Makkachin. Makkachin lets out a loud snore and rolls over onto her other side.

“Vitya. Focus.”

“Like a laser.” Victor says, face buried in Makkachin’s fur.

“Okay,” Yuuri rolls his eyes then takes a deep breath, “did you order sex toys? Are you taking suggestions from Chris again?”

“Don’t sound so horrified, Yuuri. I know you liked the remotely controlled vibrator Chris recommended,” Victor winks.

Yuuri can’t even be bothered to blush, he’s so frustrated. He can't think of another reasonable possibility, and he doesn't want to give Victor the satisfaction of being right.

“Fine, did you order another dog in the mail?” What the hell is Victor so excited about?

“Yuuri! I would never do that to Makkachin! She’s too used to life as an only child.” It says a lot about Victor's knowledge of the postal system that he believes mail order dogs are a probable possibility. 

“Then why are you so obsessed with getting our mail?”

“You’ll see, lapochka!” Victor trills. And he refuses to say anything else on the subject.

Yuuri's going to _scream_.

____________________________________________

Two weeks later Victor tears into their apartment like a hurricane clutching a plain brown box in his hands, eyes manic with excitement.

“Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri!”

“Vitya, Vitya, Vitya,” this better be what Victor was waiting for.

“Yuuuuuri, don’t be mean. Look!” He shakes the box in front of Yuuri’s face.

“Vitya, I know you think I can do anything but I can’t spontaneously develop x-ray vision.”

Victor stares off into the distance—eyes dreamy, “but imagine if _I_ did _._ I could see you naked all the time,” he jerks himself back to the present to flash Yuuri an all too smug smile.

“I’m divorcing you.”

“Yuuri! We’re not even married yet and you’re already talking about divorce?” Victor cries, box cradled to his chest, grasping a pair of scissors in his right hand.

“We’ll never work Vitya. How are we ever supposed to get married with all this mistrust between us,” Yuuri deadpans. He just wants Victor to open that stupid box. And to stop doing his best Georgi impression.

“Trust building exercises, _obviously_ ,” Victor’s grin is all teeth and intent.

“Vitya. Your idea of trust building exercises was to sleep together. I’m pretty sure we already do that, unless you’re slipping an incredibly clingy dakimakura into bed with me every night.”

Victor gaps, “How could you think such terrible things about me, Yuuri? Besides, we’re inventive! I’m sure we’ll be able to think of a new _exercise_ to build trust,” he shoots Yuuri a smug look and glances at the scissors in his hand before discarding them in favor of his car keys. Victor mutters something about “poetic imperative,” before jamming his key into the tape holding the box closed.

“Vitya, you’re making this unnecessarily difficult.”

“It’s performance art, Yuuri. You always liked watching me perform before. Has our impending marriage ruined the magic?” Victor somehow manages to combine a pout with frustrated rage. He’s in a game of tug of war with the box and the box is absolutely winning.

“Why are you like this?”

“I will not dignify that with a response,” Victor sniffs before letting out a cry of joy and tearing the box open in a flurry of packing peanuts. “It’s here! It’s here!”

Victor is beaming like Makkachin’s just been awarded a Nobel Peace Prize.

Yuuri quirks an eyebrow. That’s anti-climactic.

He’s presenting Yuuri with a license plate that says “ykskhsb”.

“What the hell does that say?” Yuuri’s face contorts in thought. Is it an acronym?

Victor gapes, “really?”

“I’m pretty sure those are just nonsense syllables.”

“Yuuri!”

Victor turns, frowns at the license plate, and murmurs,“maybe I went too subtle.”

But he rallies and looks at Yuuri, so smug that Yuuri wants to kiss it off his face, “and you said," Victor affects a voice that sounds like Yuuri’s second cousin who’s eaten too many chili peppers, “‘Vitya, you’ve never been subtle in your life.’”

Yuuri crosses his arms in front of his chest, unimpressed, “Vitya, there’s subtle and then there’s incomprehensibly cryptic.”

Victor is undeterred, “Yurio will get it. He uses Instagram.”

____________________________________________

“What the fuck does that say?” Yurio growls.

Victor pouts, "does no one appreciate genius anymore?" 

“No one appreciates _you_ , there’s a difference.”

Victor clasps hand “Yuuri, what have I done to deserve this kind of treatment from our son?”

“I’m not your son!

”Yuuri rolls his eyes, “I’m on Yurio’s side.”

“This cruel world is against me. How can I ever go on?” Victor monologues, ignoring them both.

“You will skate. Like you have since you were seven,” Yakov is unamused. All of his skaters have gathered around the license plate. No one’s managed to parse the meaning. It’s disrupting practice.

“10 rounds of suicides for everyone!”

____________________________________________

 

They turn it into a game. At lunch, winded from (“totally unnecesary, how could you Yakov?”) suicides all the skaters at Yubileyny gather round the mysterious combination of letters and try to guess what it means.

Victor’s enthused by “Team Russia bonding!” but completely frustrated no one’s managed to grasp what he insists is an “obvious explanation.”

“Yurio keeps saving kittens he’s so bamboozled,” Mila guesses.

“You keep saying kiss him so breathe,” Andrei, one of the ice dancers, says.

“Yakov killed, so kneel. He’ll sanction begging,” Georgi suggests.

“Why would I get any of those?” Victor would tear out his hair if he wasn’t so concerned about his forehead to hair ratio.

Yuuri just pats him on the shoulder and fights an amused smile.

____________________________________________

When Yuuri gets to his locker at Yubileyny the next day, he’s greeted by an avalanche of paper, each bearing increasingly ridiculous guesses about the meaning of “ykskhsb”.

He’s so done.

Stomping out to the rink, he spies Victor on the ice, talking with Yakov and using hand gestures that have no conceivable relationship to either of their programs. Yuuri can’t be bothered to care. Victor watches him he skates over, face bright, until he parses Yuuri’s expression and blanches.

“Vitya,” Yuuri growls, “please put an end to this. I’m living a whole new meaning to “death by a thousand paper cuts.” He shoves a pile of papers into Victors hands, “you deal with this.”

“But Yuuuuuuri—“

“No. You started this. And you’ve continued it. It’s your responsibility. So unless you want to give up and just _tell_ us…” Yuuri trails off.

Victor shakes his head, jaw tightening with resolve, “someone will figure it out,” he says, and skates away.

Yuuri turns to Yakov, “is he always like this?”

Yakov snorts. It’s as shocking hearing a mime laugh. Yakov’s face is an unfamiliar mix of impressed and frustrated, “you don’t win five consecutive golds at the Grand Prix Finals and World Championships without being a stubborn ass.”

____________________________________________

That night Victor posts a picture on Instagram and asks his followers for their guesses. It does not go well.

 

_**[photo: Yuuri holding up the 'ykskhsb' license plate with messy hair, no glasses, and an entirely un-amused expression]** _

**71,349** likes, **1036** comments

  
**@v-nikiforov: @katsuki-yuuri @mila-baba @y-plisetsky** haven't been able to guess the obvious meaning behind my new license plate, so I'm turning to my loyal fans! Tell me your guesses in the comments #ykskhsb #victorsnewplates #victornikiforov #katsukiyuuri #geniusislonelysometimes

 **katsuki-yuuri** : Vitya, you said you would crop me out.  
**christophe-gc** : SHOTS FIRED  
**ice-ice-skating** : you kneel so kiss his skates baby #ykskhsb  
**quadflipmyheart** : yonder kite swings kind hero so bow #ykskhb  
**goldskatesgoldheart** : y'all kill swoll kids so back-off  
**littlemisspedan** t: **@goldskatesgoldheart** back off is two words, use a dictionary

_view more comments_

  .......

_**[photo: Yuuri from the back looking out the window, wearing a pair of tight yoga pants and a worn grey shirt that's too big on him]** _

**23,981** likes **467** comments

 **@v-nikiforov:** yuuri's giving me a time out (((((( #hatetoseehimgo #lovetowatchhimleave #datass #whenbaewearsyourclothes #katsukiyuuri #victornikiforov

 **katsuki-yuuri** : you're not helping your cause  
**v-nikiforov** : but yuuri! it's how i show my love  
**katsuki-yuuri** : i'm sure you can think of something else  
**y-plisetsky: @katsuki-yuuri @v-nikiforov** keep your mating rituals off of instagram. this is a sacred space

_view more comments_

____________________________________________

 

(“That word doesn’t even being with a ‘k’!”  
“Vitya we agreed, no answering the comments unless they’re right.”  
“But Yuuuuuri.”  
“No.”)

____________________________________________

 

_**[image: Chris in a low cut v-neck shirt holding up a phone with Victor’s instagram post]** _

**christophe-gc** : no one knows what the hell “ykskhsb” means so leave a comment to get in on the betting pool for how long it’ll take for someone to figure it out #ykskhsb #victornikiforov #themysterycontinues #ykskhsbbettingpool

 **12899** likes, **361** comments  
v-nikiforov: chris!!! why???  
christophe-gc: it’s a public service. putting everyone out of their misery.

_view more comments_

____________________________________________

For the next three days, Victor’s mood swings wildly between frustrated and smug whenever someone mentions the license plate.

Yuuri posts a rare photo to Instagram; Victor's drooling on his pillow and Yuuri's captioned it: “genius or cryptic? you decide” and includes a poll. Cryptic wins in a landslide.

Victor pouts and attempts to give Yuuri the silent treatment. It lasts all of ten minutes before he’s pouting that Yuuri’s cuddling Makkachin instead of him. He demands to be the little spoon as retribution.

(“I’m a delicate artist, Yuuri. I can’t survive this kind of treatment.”)

The next day, Yurio tells him that his step sequences “aren’t a total horror show,” and then demands Yuuri help him work on his edges. Yuuri’s pretty sure that short of a blood pact (which is not out of the question) this makes them friends. As long as he keeps his mouth shut about it.

____________________________________________

Yuuri Skypes with Phichit on a Thursday. It’s three days after the license plate arrived, and two since Victor posted the challenge on Instagram. No one’s figured out what Victor was going for. Chris’s betting pool continues to swell.

“Yuuri!” Phichit is bouncing in his chair, hamster seated on either shoulder.

“Phichit! How—“

“I need to apologize,” Phichit’s expression has shifted to solemnly apologetic so fast that Yuuri’s getting whiplash, “I may have…committed electronicide. And murdered my phone. I gave Arthur a proper funeral and I can’t deal with the guilt. We tried to save him but it was too late. I had to get a new phone.”

“Okay? I mean that sucks but, why are you apologizing to me?”

“I haven’t been able to check Instagram for two days. I let you down in your hour of need! Can you get Victor?” Phichit doesn’t wait for Yuuri to answer, he just starts yelling “Victor!”

“Phichit!” Victor yells just as loud. Right next to Yuuri’s ear.

“Where did you even come from?” Yuuri thought he was in the bedroom.

“I was on the floor, playing fetch with Makkachin. Although I was doing most of the actual fetching.” Somedays, Yuuri thinks about the Victor on his posters versus the Victor in his bed and laughs.

“Victor!” Phichit’s excited again. It’s infectious—Victor’s bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, “your license plate is _adorable_ I approve.”

Victor steals the phone right out of Yuuri’s hand, “Phichit you are a national— no _international_ treasure.”

Phichit’s smug, "I know. Can you hand me back to Yuuri?”

Victor doesn’t but he flops down on the couch next to Yuuri and slides an arm around him.

“You actually know what it says?”

“I am hurt. And offended. Who do you think I am?” Victor’s nodding along like he’s a church-goer at a Revival meeting.

“So little faith in your best friend and fiancé, lapochka. Maybe I should marry Phichit instead. At least he understands me,” Victor’s trying to combine smug and wounded. It’s not working well for him.

“What are you doing with your face? You look constipated.”

Phichit’s cackling on the other end of the line

“Yuuri! I thought we’d at least have a honeymoon period,” Victor’s pouting.

“We’re still in the honeymoon period, I just like my honeymoons to be more realistic.”

“Back to me,” Phichit says, “Yuuri, I’m extremely disappointed you didn’t recognize your own name.”

Yuuri looks between Phichit and Victor, “what?”

Victor’s clapping in delight, “finally someone understands me!”

“Are you saying—"

“Yes! It says Yuuri Katsuki’s husband!” Phichit is _glowing._

“—in a manner of speaking,” Victor continues, “Seven letters is not a lot of space.”

“Tell Chris I’ll collect my winnings now.”

After they end the call with Phichit, Yuuri looks at Victor, a little frustrated but mostly amused, “you’re ridiculous, do you know that? Why are you so dramatic?”

“I’m sorry, Yuuri, what was that? I can’t hear you over the sound of your press conference.”

Yuuri hits him with a pillow.

____________________________________________

“Did you see Phichit’s Instagram post,” Victor asks Yuuri a week later while reclining on the couch, Yuuri’s head pillowed on his chest.

“Mmmmm,” Yuuri says. It’s neither a yes nor a no. He’s so warm and comfortable. He doesn’t want to make decisions right now.

“Yuuuuuri,” Victor pokes the side of his head, and is about to say something else when that awful “mail time” alarm on his phone fog horns through their apartment.

In one swift motion, Victor lifts Yuuri off of his chest and flies out the door. Presumably down to the mail boxes. Yuuri thinks it’s a little early in their relationship for Victor to be having an affair with the mailman— they’re not even married yet.

Oh god. Did Victor order another license plate?

Yuuri hears Victor before he sees him; despite his grace on the ice, Victor does _not_ know how to walk quietly.

Yuuri flinches when he notices Victor’s got another box in his hands and a feral grin stretched across his face, "Yuuuuuuuuuri! The sex toys are here!”

This is Yuuri's life. These are his choices. He's marrying this man.

(He wouldn’t change it for the world.)

____________________________________________

Victor’s noticed that Yuuri’s suspiciously attached to the mailman. He’s pretty sure Dmitri is trying to seduce Yuuri. How could Dmitri do this to him? He thought they were _friends_. He thought that they had an understanding: Dmitri would deliver Victor’s sex toys without comment. Victor would slip him 15,000 rubles and Dmitri wouldn’t make a move on Yuuri.

They’ve never spoken about it, but Victor is  _sure_ it's obvious.

Four unbearably painful days into Yuuri’s new friendship with Dmitri, Yuuri bursts into the apartment, cheeks painted with an utterly delectable flush, hair in dissaray, and clutching a brown cardboard box.

Victor knows this scene. Victor’s set this scene. Victor’s definitely getting new sex toys.

He jumps up from the couch, sidles over to Yuuri, and wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist, rubbing circles into the sides of Yuuri’s hips.

“What did you order, Yuuri?” he purrs into the side of Yuuri’s neck. This is the best day of his life.

“Oh just something for our meeting tomorrow,” he looks at Victor, smirking, “I wasn’t sure it would get here in time.”

“Open it! Open it!” Victor bounces up and down while still snared around Yuuri’s waist. It’s incredibly uncomfortable. He doesn’t care.

“You’ll have to let go of me first, Vitya.”

Victor pouts but releases Yuuri from his grasp. Yuuri walks into the kitchen, picks up a pair of scissors, and slices the box open. Victor’s a little appalled at the lack of performance but Yuuri looks excited so he lets it go.

“Are you ready?” Yuuri asks, hands inside the box, grasping the as yet unknown content.

“Show me!” Victor’s would be on the edge of his seat…if he were sitting.

Yuuri pulls out…the ugliest tie Victor’s ever seen. It’s shapes like one of those singing fish you put on the wall. It’s a disgrace to ties everywhere to even call it a tie. Victor feels the urge to apologize to the Burberry and Moschino ties hanging in his closet.

“Yuuri…”

But Yuuri’s not done. He pulls out _another_ tie decorated with three wolves howling at the moon. He holds it up to his neck, “do you think I should wear this one tonight?”

He lifts one more tie out of the box, a pepto-bismol pink affair covered in neon green and yellow pineapples, “or this one?”

Victor is speechless.

“Oh Victor, am I embarrassing you? I can’t even _imagine_ how that feels. I think I’ll wear the bass tie tonight and the wolf one for our next meeting. Or maybe at our wedding.”

(Victor’s never been more horrified and turned on in his life. He’ll love this man until the end of time.)

____________________________________________

_**[photo: Yuuri wearing a beautiful blue fitted suit with a terrible tie that looks like the singing fish you hang on your wall. His arm is around Victor, wearing a black fitted suit peppered with silver pinstripes, the wolf tie handing around his neck]** _

**@katsuki-yuuri** : turn about is fair play. #katsukiyuuri #victornikiforov #ykskhsb

 **131852** likes, **986** comments  
**phichit-chu** : SAVAGE. i’ve taught you well, son  
**katsuki-yuuri** : **@phichit-chu** i’m older than you  
**christophe-gc** : that’s a good look for you **@v-nikiforov**  
**v-nikiforov** : **@christophe-gc** everything is a good look for me ;)  
**y-plisetsky** : you’re getting a framed picture of this for your wedding  
**v-nikiforov** : **@y-plisetsky** you DO care  <3 <3 <3  
**y-plisetsky** : **@v-nikiforov** i will end you

_view more comments_

____________________________________________

 

_**[photo: the wolf tie, the bass tie, and the pineapple tie all laid across a set of rumpled sheets]** _

**@v-nikiforov** : we found an alternative use. money well spent ;) #tiedup #katsukiyuuri #victornikifov #notsomethingyouusetheburberryfor

 **23019** likes, **876** comments  
**phichit-chu** : **@katsuki-yuuri** deets deets deets deets  
**phichit-chu** : **@v-nikiforov** srsly deets  
**christophe-gc** : **@v-nikiforov @phichit-chu** *slams fist on table* DEETS  
**phichit-chu** : **@v-nikiforov** this post is neither subtle not cryptic. A+++++  
**katsuki-yuuri** : why are you guys like this  
**y-plisetsky** : the real question is why are **@katsuki-yuuri** and **@v-nikiforov** like this  
**v-nikiforov** : **@y-plisetsky** wrong, yurio. the real _real_ question is: why do you bother to comment on all of these posts if you hate them so much? hmmmm????  
**phichit-chu** : SHOTS FIRED  
**y-plisetsky** : i hate all of you

_view more comments_

 

**Author's Note:**

> So....bedazzled cars are actually a [Real Thing](http://s164.photobucket.com/user/matraz_photos/media/Bedazzled.jpg.html). Apparently it was a trend in Japan for a little while. 
> 
> So are [customized car horns!](http://www.popularmechanics.com/cars/how-to/a23253/how-to-add-custom-sounds-to-your-car-horn/)
> 
> (I probably could have titled this: Riding In Cars With Boys, but I thought Vanity Plate worked better).
> 
> (I also seriously considered using lyrics from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song because I am terrible and secretly think Will Smith's music career is under appreciated, I'm so sorry)
> 
> While writing this I thought it might be bordering on crack!fic but...after Chihoko-gate is anything fandom writes about Victor "Extra" Nikiforov really crack? Katsudon for thought. 
> 
> Fun fact: this is the fic idea that inspired my (former) pseudonym! EDIT: i deleted the pseud for reasons (too long) but it was KatsukiYuurisTrophyHusband in case you were wondering.
> 
> Kuso= Japanese for crap/shit
> 
> Lapochka= Russian for darling/sweetheart
> 
> Thank you to the amazing[ dommi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji)  
> for helping me figure out a reason Phichit wouldn't be on Instagram for a couple days, talking about these ridiculous dorks with me, bouncing ideas around, and generally being amazing. 
> 
> Thanks to my writer wife [LittleLostStar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLostStar/pseuds/LittleLostStar) for lots of fun and productive conversations about my favorite idiots, music, Victor "extra" Nikiforov, and just being awesome. 
> 
> the "numberoneyuuristan" instagram username is a reference to cutthroatpixie's great fic [#JoinUS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615515) as well as counterheist's ESSENTIAL fic [Edit Sober](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9476303)
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> SEE YOU NEXT LEVEL
> 
> (next up for me, one of: Bar! AU, Party Planner Victor AU, Night Vale Episode 2, a fandom AU, or just another really long authors note.)


End file.
